


to distract our hearts from ever missing them (but i'm forever missing him)

by craftingdead



Series: it’s sacrilege, sacrilege, sacrilege (you say!) [3]
Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sign Language, THIS ENTIRE FIC WAS BECAUSE I FORGOT ONE SCENE IN THE PREVIOUS ONE, finally got to use a youth - daughter lyric as a title too!, hurt/comfort in a. way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 01:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingdead/pseuds/craftingdead
Summary: The wolves around him fall to the ground and, hesitantly, Nick removes his hands from his face.They’re all lying in their own pools of blood, taken down by injuries to their stomachs, heads, backs, all sword wounds. The last one alive glares at him with a narrowed eye before laying its head down and, too, succumbing to its injuries.And when Nick looks up again, there’s a man standing there. The first thing he sees is his chest—dark brown skin underneath a black, unzipped shirt, and nothing underneath. When he looks up, he takes a step back, because the man is at least a good foot taller than him. A hood pulled over his head with a green bandana covering half his face. The sword he’s carrying—now dripping blood off the tip—is a darker shade of green.Blood stains the ground, dripping red tears from the wolves fur and—and dripping—and dripping—





	to distract our hearts from ever missing them (but i'm forever missing him)

The wolves around him fall to the ground and, hesitantly, Nick removes his hands from his face.

They’re all lying in their own pools of blood, taken down by injuries to their stomachs, heads, backs, all sword wounds. The last one alive glares at him with a narrowed eye before laying its head down and, too, succumbing to its injuries.

And when Nick looks up again, there’s a man standing there. The first thing he sees is his chest—dark brown skin underneath a black, unzipped shirt, and nothing underneath. When he looks up, he takes a step back, because the man is at least a good foot taller than him. A hood pulled over his head with a green bandana covering half his face. The sword he’s carrying—now dripping blood off the tip—is a darker shade of green.

“Thank you!” Nick exclaims.

“No problem,” the man responds, “there’s a house not far from here. If you need any help or any shelter for the night, go there.”

He pulls his bandana to the side, and winks at him, and then is off into the hazardous snow storm that had gotten Nick into this situation in the first place. Blood stains the ground, dripping red tears from the wolves fur and—and dripping—and dripping—

Nick shook himself out of the memory. The “blood” dripping down was just the tears staining his face, as they had been for the past days. He took in a shaky breath and looked to the side, at the wall, where Ghetto’s sword was propped up. Polished and clean. Sky had done it the day before, returning it as Nick woke up from a fitful sleep without a word.

Jordan stared up at him. “Where Daddy?” he asked like he had been asking for the past week. Nick let out another small sob and wiped his tears off with his shirtsleeve. Then, he groaned loudly into his hands, whimpering again softly.

He had cooped himself up in his house the morning after. Apparently, he’d fainted near the crater. The pitiful looks Sky kept giving him in the Guard Tower were too much for him, and he’d convinced Tommy to give him a dose of whatever was the strongest thing that could knock him out for half a day. After he woke up then, he traveled back to the old house (Barney had been looking over Jordan), took Jordan and locked himself in his old house. Shelby had been by a few times to look over him, help care for Jordan—Nick, a few times, had to reassure her that he was fine to look over a child in his state—but other than that, no one had talked to him, and he’d talked to nobody.

The baby was his saving grace. The only thing that could snap him out of an episode was the noises he made when he was hungry or bored or tired. Jordan kept him from going off the deep end. Jordan kept him from going to sleep and refusing to wake up the next day.

(“Hey, look,” Ghetto says to Jordan, looking amused as Nick rushes into the clearing, panting. “Looks like your father finally decided to show up!”

“Father?” Nick says, cocking his head to the side in confusion.

“Well, I mean, yeah,” he responds, “you are taking care of him. You are the closest thing to an actual father he has right now. Or mother. Or really… any parental figure. Actually, you get all of the titles now, from doing such a bitchin’ job at all three. I wish I was this competent.” Ghetto laughs and Jordan giggles along with him, cooing softly.

Nick smiles along. “Well… you are,” he says. “Since if I’m the father, and we found him together, would that make you the second father?”

“U-uh,” Ghetto stutters out, refusing to meet his gaze. “Maybe. Maybe a father figure, or something. I’m pretty sure we didn’t f—”

He punches his arm and scowls as Ghetto snickers. “Don’t say that kind of stuff!” Nick whines. “We’re sitting right next to a child!”

“Don’t worry, Baby.” Ghetto winks and finger guns at him. “The kiddo won’t remember this in two years. This father-figure right here is all good to say whatever he likes. Hey, Jordan, wanna learn how to say fuck?”)

His bandana hadn’t left Nick’s hand, or arm, or face, or neck. He’d tucked in into his scarf several times before falling asleep. It was easier to keep it on his person than to possibly lose it. Or, worse, get it destroyed or ripped in some way.

Jordan liked to play with it, sometimes. Or to sleep with it. He wasn’t destructive at all, just a baby, so Nick let him. If it made him stop crying. Caring for the child had been made a lot easier after his house was stocked with supplies and food and stuff he needed to care for a baby in general. When he asked Shelby about it, she said that AK had done it. Then mentioned that AK was also the one to carry him back to the Guard Tower after he fainted.

(“Hi, you must be the father!” Barney says enthusiastically. “I’m Barney! I love taking care of children, and once I heard about little Jordan here, I just had to meet him! I understand that you two are the parents, but if you ever need any help at all, I’m always here to help, anytime you need, I don’t need much sleep—”

Shark puts his hands on either side of his temples and stares at Barney with one eye twitching. Nick keeps awkwardly glancing from Barney to Ghetto. Ghetto clears his throat, despite looking extremely amused with the whole situation. Nick barely restrains himself from hissing, “Don’t encourage him!” at him, because Anika knows that Barney would lose his fucking mind if Ghetto confirmed that they were the “biological” parents, truth or not.

“We aren’t actually his… ‘biological’ parents,” he says, “we’re just his caretakers. We found him a while back, so now we’re raising him.”

“Oh.” Something seems to dawn on Barney, and he steps back, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you two feel uncomfortable by that. But I’m still always here if you need help! I should have known, I don’t see Nick as the type to really—”

“Okay, Barney!” Nick says loudly as he shoves him away. “Thank you very much for your help,  but I believe you and Shark have other business to attend to!”

Ghetto is laughing behind his hand when Nick turns back.)

Someone knocked on the door.

That someone turned out to be Shelby, who opened the door and then looked relieved to see Nick sitting there. “Hey,” she said softly, gaze traveling from him to Jordan to the bandana in his hand. “How’ve you been? It’s been a few days since I’ve last visited.”

He wanted to say, “I’ve been getting worse,” but he doesn’t. He can’t. His mouth refuses to move or work or do anything besides talking to Jordan on the occasion. Whisper stories that Ghetto had told him. Told him things about what he and Ghetto had done, had managed to accomplish in the months (years, technically, his head supplied. Because fifteen years had passed). Or just talked to him about whatever. It made Nick feel better.

She scratched behind her ear, shuffling awkwardly. “Well. I brought you something to eat if you need it,” she said and set down a little tray on his desk.

“Thanks,” he signed, giving up on talking entirely. She nodded and approached him slowly. Like he would freak out and run away if she was too fast. If he would flee the moment he noticed her inching towards him.

“You know…” Shelby stopped just a few feet away from him. “It’s… it’s been over a week, Nick. I… I was wondering if you wanted to come into town with me. Get some fresh air. I know Jordan has been going with Barney and Sky but you need it too.”

(“My name is Ghetto.”

Nick looks up. The stranger previously known as, well, The Stranger, was looking at him. Ghetto was looking at him. He cracks a smile. “What? Didn’t you want to know my name? You said you wanted to be friends, I thought this was a twenty questions type thing.”

“N-no,” Nick says, “no it’s fine, I just didn’t expect you to answer that quickly. Ghetto.”

It feels unfamiliar in his mouth. _Ghetto._ Ghetto laughs and adds, “My last name is Reid if you want to know that too.”

“Mine is Lynx,” he says, the thought coming out of nowhere. “At least, I’m pretty sure that’s my last name.”

“How do you not know your last name?”

Nick shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know either.”

“That seems pretty stupid to me. What kind of town are you running if you’re not even sure of your last name?”

“Well, technically, I’m not running it, so I can’t be blamed for anything I can or cannot remember.”

Ghetto laughs, loud and booming, and Nick can’t help but smile along.)

Nick shook his head.

“Are you sure?” Shelby asked, finally sitting down next to him. He nodded to that, and Jordan mimicked the action, shaking his head then nodding it and giggling all the while. Don’t get dizzy, Nick thought and steadied him as he almost fell over.

“Do you want to know what’s been going on?” she asked after even more hesitation, leaning forward and placing a hand on his knee. He nodded, again.

Then she talked. The townspeople and refugees alike had come together to help clear out the crater, to douse the flames and cut down the still-burning trees. People had been going around down in the center and seeing what the ground was like, if they could do anything with it, build anything, grow anything. So far, they don’t know, but people started shoveling in dirt from the mounds left around from building projects, hoping that would help.

Sky had been doing a lot around town, she said, and he tensed up just barely when she mentioned his name. Helping with everyone, with the kids, with handing out food and reinforcing buildings and houses and fixing the docks. That had been his main project for the past day or two. Rebuilding the docks down by Nick’s house, in case they ever came into use.

“Thank him for me.”

Shelby agreed. Then, bashfully, said, “I don’t actually fully know what that said. My sign language isn’t that good. Did you tell me to thank him for it, or…”

Nick nodded. He’d been doing a lot of nodding. It was starting to make him nauseous, the sharp motion. He loved his sister but he kind of wanted her gone right now so he could be alone. Being alone had been his favorite pastime—or, well, not alone. Alone with himself and Jordan, but no one else.

“Okay.” She bit her lip and looked away, trying to meet anything but his eye. Nick winced as another wave of nausea rushed over him and prayed that he wasn’t going to throw up when she was here. That would make her want to drag him over to someone who could see what was wrong with him. It probably wasn’t anything, just a reaction to the… the whole Ghetto situation, but it had been bothering him most of the week.

(A sword was against his throat. Ghetto grins. “Pinned ‘ya.”

He steps back and rolls out his shoulders, before dropping his sword to the floor and stretching his arms above his head. Nick scowls at it, at the sword, before saying, “One of these days, I’m going to actually beat you.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Babe,” Ghetto says. “Do you want to go another round? I want to see if I can flip you with one arm.”)

“Everyone’s been asking about you, Nick,” Shelby murmured with concern in her voice. “One of these days you’re going to have to come out. No—not in that way, don’t give me that look, you know what I mean. If it’s just for five minutes, it’d be worth it. Just to confirm to the people that you’re doing okay, or, at least, aren’t dead.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Nick, _please,_ ” she begged, leaning in to cup his face with her hands motherly. “You can’t go on like this. You have to get better; for you, for us, for Jordan—you’re doing a good job now, but what about in a few days? A few weeks? What happens if you get worse? You may not be a Lord anymore, but you still have people you need to watch over. Sky thinks you hate him, for living when Ghetto didn’t, AK is worried sick, we don’t even know where Shark is, or if he knows by now, or _anything._ We _need_ you to be okay.

“Even if you aren’t okay, we need you to tell us that to make sure we can help you. We’re all your friends, here, and we all care for your safety, health, and happiness. I know Ghetto’s death hurt you really… really bad, but you’re still one of us and you still help us lead and you can’t just abandon that all!”

Nick’s breath hitched. He exhaled a shaky breath and his chest rattled like an empty cage, a storm already coming up on the horizon. He couldn’t cry in front of Shelby… it was like she said, he needed to be there for him. He couldn’t abandon them all. Nick wiped tears off with the back of his hand and tried to convince himself he was okay.

Something patted his knee.

When Nick looked down, Jordan’s hand was on it. And when he looked, Jordan smiled and pointed to it, before pointing to Nick’s own face and frowning. “Dada,” he said, in that child-like voice of his (he had been an early talker) and then added, “No sad.”

Shaking his head, since he’d apparently caught on to what that meant by now, he repeated “No sad,” until he was dizzy, then collapsed onto the floor, giggling from the gesture. Nick gently picked him up and sat him back down, off the floor.

“I’m sorry.” He wiped away fresh tears and bowed his head, embarrassed. He wasn’t… really supposed to let them see him like this. He was supposed to be good and happy and there for all of them. Like Shelby said! (But it had been a week and he wasn’t better and wasn’t getting better, so what could he do when he was feeling like that?)

Instead of accepting his apology, or saying anything, really, Shelby instead leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her head in his chest and hugging him tight. “No,” she said, “ _I’m_ sorry. I had never noticed how close you two were.

(Ghetto kisses him rough against the back of a barely decayed house, when he should be heading back home or to where his friends were staying.

Nick curls his hand into Ghetto’s hair and pulls him closer as rain dribbles down from the roof and falls beside them. The sky is a light shade of gray, covered by clouds that have been steadily making their way over the town. It has been raining for a good while, now, turning dirt roads into sloppy mud. People lock themselves in their places and try to wait out the storm.

Ghetto pulled him behind this one after a sprint through the storm, Ghetto flinging mud back at him whenever he tried to catch up. It now rests against his cheek and shirt, probably getting onto Ghetto, too.

And when they pull back, Nick’s panting and flushed and Ghetto has that almost signature grin on his face.

“We should head back now,” he whispers, not wanting to be heard. “I don’t want to lose my head because your guards caught us here, or something. Mind if I walk you back.”

“They would be even more mad if you didn’t. I’m just so vulnerable.” Ghetto buries his head into the crook of Nick’s neck and laughs underneath the steady sound of the rain.)

He hugged her back. “It’s okay,” he wanted to say, “nobody knew. Nobody knew but us,” he wanted to say.

“But I never noticed! I’m one of your best friends, and I never noticed. I was too busy fighting with the boys… or helping out with the people coming in and out of the town… or dealing with Jess and her magicks… I was too busy with everything and everyone else, I didn’t pay attention to you or the things you were dealing with,” she murmured into his shirt.

“I wasn’t dealing with anything bad!” he signed against her back, praying she could decode the messages. “We were friends. We spent more time together as you spent less with me. I wasn’t lonely with him. It’s not your fault.”

“But I should’ve paid more attention. If I knew how close you two were, how much he meant to you, I could’ve done something to prevent this. One of us could, watching out for him, maybe. You don’t deserve this.”

 _None of us do._ Nick hugged her even tighter, the side of her cheek resting against the spot between his stomach and chest, continuing to babble about something he couldn’t pay attention to through the ringing of his ears.

“I should have noticed. One of us should have noticed.”

That was what Ghetto said when Nick broke down in front of him, once, crying about how stressed he was and how much Shark disappearing had scared him and how everything was going wrong and Sky was still in the Anika Dimension and how scared he was of anything happening to Ghetto. He held him tight and rubbed circles on his back, whispering about how he would do anything in his power to help him through this, to get Shark back, to get Sky back. How nothing would happen to him. And Nick listened. And Nick believed him.

There’s something wet against his shirt, and it’s Shelby crying, too, since no one seems to be able to stop crying these days. Jordan poked at her and called out, “No sad!” because he was the only sane one in the town.

Nick wanted to say something else, but another wave of pain ran through him, sourcing from his stomach, so he pulled away and wrapped a hand around his waist, and pressing the other to his mouth. “Sorry.” He sighed. “I’ve been feeling really sick lately. Don’t want to throw up on you.”

“It’s okay.” Shelby put her hand on his knee again. “Do you need me to get you any medicine? Anything specific you need?”

He shook his head. Jordan, jealous that he wasn’t getting as much attention, climbed into his lap and butted his face into into his stomach, like how Shelby had been.

She walked back towards the door. Stopped it swinging shut as she left with a foot. “If you need anything, anything at all, Sky is working at the docks. You can just, send him a message or something if you need anything. He’d be glad to know that you still want to talk to him. Or… communicate with him.”

Nick nodded. Because that was all he did. Sniffled again, the loneliness setting back in as she looked to the floor. Then back at him. “I’m sorry,” she said, and let the door swing shut.

(“You can take the blanket,” Ghetto says, sitting down next to the fire. “I’ll take first shift.”

“Are you sure?” Nick asks.

“Yeah. I’m not that tired, anyway. You’ll probably fall asleep on watch, thinking about it.”

Ghetto runs his hand down his broadsword, picking at the nicks and dirt on it. Nick rolls his eyes at him as he makes a hurt face, hand brushing against a particularly nasty dent. (Neither of them would be getting much sleep that night, but it didn't really matter. No one saw what happened, and when one of them's dead, does it really matter that much anymore?)

“If you’re so sure about that, wake me up when you’re tired,” Nick says and lays back on the blanket. Groans. “Why did we have to stay out so late.” Ghetto snickers.)

In his arms, Jordan yawned loudly, his headbutting failing down to just small nudges against his stomach. Nick picked him up, him already curling up into a ball, half-asleep, and decided that it was time to sleep. He was exhausted after just a few hours awake. He’d spend half of his “nap” awake and wondering.

The stairs still creaked whenever he went up them, even after countless revisions and fixer-uppers and going up and down them several times in the past week.

He fitted Jordan into the crib Barney had dragged up in his second day cooped up here, demanding to be let in and refusing to leave until Nick did. When he finally opened the door, his wide-eyed expression and gasps of, “Nick!” were enough to make him cross his arms and pull them close to his body out of embarrassment. (He hadn’t been doing the best.)

Then he climbed into his own bed, not bothering to get dressed into something more comfortable and not bothering to pull the blankets over his shivering body. He was too warm, for some reason, to do something like that.

(“Hey, Nick, have you seen my jacket?” Ghetto asks, right before he turns.

Nick snickers, wearing it himself, shirtless and all. The bandana was in Ghetto’s hand so he couldn’t steal that, but, speaking so, he thinks he looks pretty good in it. Ghetto’s eyes widen and then narrow and then drift down Nick’s form.

“Hey!” Nick snaps. “My eyes are up here.”

“Mine aren’t.” Ghetto whistles low.

Nick throws a pinecone from the ground at him and Ghetto ducks, laughing. “You’re so dirty!” he yells, aiming with another pinecone (and having the jacket slip half off him in the process, exposing much more skin than he was planning on).

“Are you aware of what we just did!”

He hits Ghetto square between his eyes with the next pinecone. He stumbles back, almost stumbles over their now put out fire, then trips and falls back on his ass. Nick lowers his arm and gasps out a, “I’m sorry!”

But Ghetto just starts laughing, until Nick is joining in too and they’re gonna be suspiciously late to meet back up with everyone else but that’s fine. It’ll probably get him a lecture and a half from Shelby but it’s fine. (For now.)

“Damn,” Ghetto says, “you look _good_ in my clothes.”)

He can’t sleep. Nick instead stared at the wall, as night started to fall over the town. The sky, shades of purple and orange and red, cascading over the land with the setting sun. It painted his house. He groaned loudly, insomnia creeping into every little last part of his head, and said, miserably, voice hoarse from disuse, “Fuck.”

Jordan stirred in his sleep lightly, snorting and turning over a few times. Nick had half a mind to pull him out of there and set him down next to him, if not for just a little comfort, to make sure nothing happens to Jordan, either.

(Jordan waddles over to him as Ghetto stands, leaning over, with his arms open. Nick cheers as he reaches him successfully and Ghetto laughs along, a dumb, parental grin on his face and maybe Nick would be okay if he wasn’t just a father “figure.”)

Everything got worse at night. The thoughts, the pain, the memories. Nick rolled over, pressing his face deep into his pillow, and screamed. Jordan barely lifted a finger, deep in sleep and peace.

(He lays across the ground, dead to the world, as hot tears drip down Sky’s face. But he still holds on tight to the bandana, wrapped around his wrist and tucked between his fingers.)


End file.
